The Art of War
by Coofis
Summary: When the young heir to the Saiyan throne is bargained into a life of slavery beneath a sadistic tyrant, he resolves to attain his freedom—and revenge—or die trying. But survival of the fittest is not inclined to show mercy. Violence, angst, betrayal, lies.
1. Chapter 1

The Art of War »

_A/N – I am determined to update this story on a regular basis. This will be the most intense fanfic in my repertoire. There is a lot of heated action and somewhat graphic violence ahead, with angsty moments woven in between. Its name is inspired by Sun Tzu's profound novel _The Art of War,_ a book of battle strategy that despite being written thousands of years ago still holds pertinence today as a valuable resource for every modern warrior, no matter the trials they face._

_I have a lot planned for this fanfic, and I have established a schedule. I will do my best to update __**every five days, **__always writing several chapters in advance of the ones I upload so as to stay on a steady track and finish strong. Please be patient as it is difficult to balance both the responsibilities of life and my sporadic bouts of inspiration. _

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Acrid coils of smoke weaved thin trails through the ashen sky, drifting upwards from the smoldering ruins of what had once been a thriving metropolis. The sickly stench of death lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the reek of charred flesh. An eerie silence reigned over the grisly remains of the city and its late inhabitants, broken only by the crackle of wayward flames that had yet to die down.

Mutilated corpses were slumped across the streets, their fleshy entrails pooling around twisted bodies. Blood bubbled from the cracked skull of a child sagging against a crumbling wall, her long-dead eyes staring sightlessly at the destruction surrounding her ragged carcass.

A forlorn gust of wind rattled the trees with its unnerving wail, rustling the blood-matted tangles of the little alien girl and brushing softly against her aubergine skin. Two ruby-reminiscent crystal earrings dangled from her elflike ears, complimenting a sleek cerise gown with frilled sleeves that dipped low over her knees.

Scarlet slashes across her forehead where a delicate tiara had once rested indicated that the indication of her royal status had been cruelly extracted from her. Several feet away in a patch of carmine mud lay the silver headpiece, snapped into violent fragments that twinkled morbidly as a testament to her dethroning.

She had once been the cherished princess of the planet and the future heir to the Huzukian throne. Her father the King had developed a fondness for riches and, as he squandered his wealth on such ornaments as the earrings his daughter wore, he neglected to pay his dues to the tyrant whom he owed much to in exchange for immunity from purges.

His insatiable greed had been his downfall.

But the elegantly-adorned child had been innocent, blissfully unaware of the imminent danger that loomed above the golden orb she called her home—danger that came in the form of dual beads, glinting heinously as they sped across the horizon tailed by streaks of fire, and growing progressively larger as they approached.

They were like pearls, but with a ruby-tinted circular window in each, and the barest outline of raven hair upswept into a flame-like style reflected from within one of them…

Now, that same eccentric coiffure hovered in a wicked shadow over the battle torn landscape, some of its ebony tendrils spilling into eyes of fervent onyx that festered beneath bushy eyebrows. The young man to whom the eyes belonged reached one blood-soaked glove upwards to part the bangs that now beset his vision, snarling when they tumbled boyishly back.

Abandoning his temperamental hairstyle to its own devices, the boy pressed a white button on the side of the mechanism attached to his right ear. An emerald plate of glass extended over one obsidian iris, bathing it lightly in a jaded hue. He blinked as the appliance began to chirp in response. Numbers flashed across the glass at a rapid pace, and he snarled softly, the harsh sound penetrating the sinister silence over the land.

"Nappa, do you copy?"

Clipped static buzzed faintly in his ear before being overridden by a gruff reply.

"I copy, Prince Vegeta."

Deciding to get right to the point, as he was not fond of pleasantries, Vegeta stated sharply, "I have completed my share of the planet. If you are finished, we can depart back to base."

More static hummed distantly, and then the answer came back to him. The Prince could tell by the smug tone of voice used that Nappa was proud of his accomplishment. "There's not a single escapee left, and the cities on my side are nothing but ruins."

"Good. Meet me at the coordinates our space pods are located at within the hour."

Casting a glance of disdain at the bloodied wasteland dotted with skeletal trees and gruesome remains of the unimpressive planet's natives, Vegeta summoned his ki and propelled himself off of the dirt, the distinctly blue flares of power licking at his skin. The stink of decomposition permeated the pallid horizon, and the foul reek of gore clung to the warrior's skin and clothing.

His muscular yet lithe frame was outfitted in royal blue spandex and complimented by white boots and gloves that were now stained suggestively with deep splotches of red. The gold-and white armor he wore was likewise splashed with encrusted blood, now faded to russet as it began to harden.

He was fourteen years of age. It was bordering on a decade since he had first been sentenced to a bitter life of servitude, and he was already simmering in hatred for his tormentors. In the nine-and-a-half years he had spent submitting to the whims of the Icejin tyrant and his lackeys, he had gained for himself a plethora of enemies.

The baby fat was finally retreating from his cheeks and his muscles had adopted a more sculpted appearance. His penetrating eyes were icily distrustful—and icily calculating—of any who dared to approach him. Many of the soldiers were wary of the radical child, whose power level was astounding for his age; and all despised his innate ability to rapidly excel in strength. Those who regarded the alien Prince as a threat did their best to break him, and the corridors echoed with the taunting remarks of soldiers who thought they were sly.

Snorting, Vegeta pushed the tumult of thoughts away into the dark recesses of his mind, concentrating instead on the exhilarating feeling of the wind filtering its way through his wild mane. A smirk wormed its way onto his features as he reveled in his own strength.

_If only my father could see me now,_ the Prince mused proudly, before scowling as another wave of fury coursed through him. His father would have been pleased if he were still _alive._

Memories trickled their way to the forefront of his attention and he cursed. A scarlet orb nestled among a myriad of stars, its misty atmosphere interwoven with gold, flashed across his subconscious—bringing with it the familiar pang of loss that penetrated his being. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to force the image away, but it remained steadfast.

As he shot like a bullet through the sparse atmosphere, he retraced the bloodstained path of havoc he had wreaked upon the once-serene planet. Discriminating clumps of ash were littered upon the vacant streets beside lifeless bodies, the likes of which wrought a pungent stench that still managed to sting the exotic warrior's nostrils even though he was several feet above. He felt himself grimace in disgust.

When had he begun to torment his victims for the sake of his escalating bloodlust? His people had never been a race without honor. They were warriors, but even they had standards. Vegeta had seen those standards embodied in the proud stance of his father.

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. He had admired his father. When he was younger, before the days he was forced to concern himself with governmental matters, his desire was to be a mighty warrior just like his sire. But those days, the days when he had never heard the name of Frieza, were long gone, replaced by nothing but hollow, humiliating drudgery.

He had been four when the world he clung to so desperately began to disintegrate. That was the year he first began to hear the _name_—whispered covertly among the palace guards and reflected in the increasingly more sober eyes of his father and mother.

_Frieza. Frieza. Frieza._

Who was Frieza, anyway? Vegeta remembered the day that he asked that question over supper after hearing the elusive name one too many times. His mother had frowned, letting her charcoal eyes drift to the meal on her plate, her eyebrows scrunching in worry. His father had cleared his throat gruffly and hardened his gaze, resting his piercing black irises upon the four-year-old Prince with a dark expression.

But what haunted him the most about that onyx gaze that bored into him was the inkling of _regret_ he saw dancing subtly within. In all of his four years of life, he had never once seen his father regretful. He had never known his father to make a mistake. It was one of the traits he admired most about his father and hoped to duplicate in himself, until that day.

It was the day that planted the first seed of doubt in his heart. Whoever this _Frieza_ was, he was involved in a blunder made by his own father, the King of Vegetasei. But when he pressed for further elaboration on what exactly the mistake entailed, he was met with eerie silence. Fear clawed at his heart when he sensed his parents' reluctance to tell.

He never knew what his father's mistake was until a year later, when Frieza took him away.

He remembered standing rooted next to his father, attempting in vain to hide his trembling as the hatch of the spherical ship lowered in time with the electrical buzz of machinery, and as a wisp of dust erupting upon impact momentarily skewed his vision of the entrance. He remembered hearing the ominous _thud_ of footsteps descending down the ramp, and seeing a flash of ghastly, fleshy pink.

He recalled the raspy effeminate voice cooing in greeting, and the slim dark lips twisted into a deceptive smile. He remembered swallowing audibly as he beheld the twinkling scarlet pupils that glittered cruelly as they shifted down to his level, regarding him with something akin to demented mirth.

He remembered desperately resisting the urge to flee from the icy fingers that reached down to pat his aloft hairstyle, and the panic that rose to suffocate him when his own eyes dared to collide with the crimson specks that observed him amusedly. He remembered watching those ebony lips stretch further into a distorted smirk, and he recollected the cold feeling that shivered through his limbs at the Icejin's touch.

He had turned to his father for reassurance, but was met with a grave, melancholy expression. It cut him to the heart.

That night, once he had been situated in the cramped and sparsely-adorned quarters that were to be his new residence, the confines of sleep evaded him. With his knees scrunched closely to his body and his arms encircling himself, he had rocked back and forth on his cot, several solitary tears daring to trickle down his cheeks. He had felt betrayed, abandoned, and destitute—torn violently away from everything and everyone he cherished. Although he struggled to reign in the cascade of tears that dampened his pillow, he could not halt the salty river and curled into a tighter ball, letting his loneliness consume him.

_He had been only five years old. _

Two smoking craters emerged from behind a skeletal clump of trees, each of their epicenters studded with a space pod. Shaking his sentimental thoughts from his mind, Vegeta descended rapidly toward the ground in a treacherous spiral of sapphire flame, exulting in the brief feeling of liberty that fluttered in the pit of his stomach.

Executing a flawless corkscrew, he finally let himself drop to earth, his body rocketing through the scant clouds in a radiant arc.

His dark eyes took in the sight of his burly bodyguard landing beside him, a small mushroom cloud of dust expanding slowly from the spot. Nodding curtly, the Prince turned and ducked into the spherical opening of his space pod, situating himself before hovering one gloved finger over the 'Launch' button.

His tail subconsciously curled tighter around his waist as the hatch closed with a hiss of machinery and the rockets ignited. Vegeta idly observed as the wasted stretch of land gradually receded until his final glimpse of the ruined world was cloaked by its gaseous atmosphere. He had barely enough time for another coherent thought before a cold mechanical voice informed him, _Stasis gas activated._

The world swam before him as he slipped into the embrace of chemical-induced sleep.

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_Review! The next update is due to come on 12/22/2012. I'll see you then. _


	2. Chapter 2

The Art of War »

_A/N – I couldn't help it. I finished this chapter and I decided to post it before the due date, my treat. _

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**Circa Nine Years before the Last Chapter's Events**

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_Colors mingled dually together, stark scarlet against medic white—stretching onwards, merging, shifting, splashing—hemmed in by the soft pulse of a fragile consciousness. The morbid luminosity of the red teetered on the verge of conquering the white, its crimson ringlets trickling into the snowy expanse, permeating clarity with fleshy, bulbous ruby._

_Through the white emerged a mottled patch of amethyst, glinting once before sinking into the pearly depths once again. A distant drumbeat hummed vacantly in the frosty void, each subtle rat-a-tat-tat puncturing the breadth of glaring white…_

_A dull roar arose in the milky chasm, and a wave of vermilion crashed upon the sugar-white shore, grappling for position before ebbing into a feeble carmine tide. The hoarse roar continued its husky crescendo, stirring the red ocean into a typhoon of thick, globular crimson. The white began to shrink, retreating as burgundy overtook it. And still the roar grew louder, desperate, piercing…_

_The rhythm accelerated and became clearer, accentuated with a harsh snap in time with its hectic beat. Now a dim flicker of pale yellow dribbled into the abyss, tearing at the crumbling walls of white and the caterwauling current of scarlet. The dark river gurgled over the pallid yellow, and now the jewel-esque purple arose through the onslaught, slicing through the red waterfall and causing a ripple of pain to shriek through the expanding yellow. So many colors…so many…_

_And then there was nothing—just cool black mist, blanketing everything in tranquil silence…_

Frieza withdrew his hand in disgust and watched the prone form of the unconscious five-year-old slump to the floor, a burgeoning puddle of blood blossoming around his body. The tail of the child, its fur matted and tinged a bloody puce, was still curled loosely around his waist in a vain attempt at shelter. The lizard slowly approached the broken figure, his lips turning upwards as he surveyed the damage. Suddenly, a fit of rage consumed the icy features of the Icejin and he lashed out violently, kicking his victim across the room. He hit the opposite wall with a sharp _crack,_ remaining unresponsive.

Frieza had been unable to tame the fiery will of the young Prince. It was for the insubordination of refusing to kneel in respect that this punishment had been inflicted upon the stubborn child. Vegeta had adamantly stood his ground even in the face of a beating, reigning in his cries of pain, staying deathly silent. Frieza had screamed at him, pummeled him, smashed his body against the wall in frustration—but it was to no avail.

Scowling at the near-corpse splayed against the wall, the mercurial tyrant barked impatiently into his scouter, "Take the monkey prince to the medical wing immediately."

Moments later, four reptilian medical assistants scurried nervously into the room with the corners of a metal stretcher secured between them. Directing a glance of annoyance toward one of the unlucky slaves, he snapped, "You there. Come here."

Wringing his two-fingered hands in anxiety, the green-scaled creature blinked his catlike topaz eyes at his master before bowing humbly. "Y-yes, Lord Frieza?"

Examining one of his black nails appreciatively while he spoke, Frieza commanded, "See to it that _princey_ here doesn't completely heal in the rejuvenation chamber. I want him fatigued for his next little appointment with me. Perhaps then he will be more inclined to obey me when he finds himself lacking in strength to fight back."

With a fidgety nod, the enslaved medic whisked back to his work. As his bulging saffron eyes took in the grotesque sight of the comatose child, he could not contain the shudder that phased through him. A small part of him respected the Prince for daring to rebel against the dictator that held them all in captivity, but a larger part pitied him and thought him to be a hopeless fool—pining after liberty he would never gain.

He was grieved that a young boy should have to endure such suffering. He saw it painted clearly on his battered face—pain and loss, masked by a profound hatred and iron determination. It seemed unfair that a mere child had to experience the confusion of being sentenced by his loved ones to live in this barbaric world. He was still infantile—so vulnerable, so _moldable._ Perhaps that was why Frieza favored the Prince, if frequent beatings and constant mockery could be counted as _favoring._

Pushing his momentary lapse of sympathy to the back of his mind, the doctor aided in the team effort of hauling the now bloody stretcher out of the throne room.

…

Nappa exhaled sharply, his onyx eyes smoldering as he clenched his fists. _"What?"_ He seethed to the edgy medic. Behind him, Raditz took a step forward, his wild hairstyle quivering with his movements. The two warriors had been sent on a purge without Vegeta, and had arrived back at base in time to hear the infuriating news of the meeting their Prince had had with the wicked Icejin an hour before.

"Don't hurt me! I'm just following orders!" The reptile-reminiscent doctor squeaked in defense, holding his slimy hands out in front of him.

"What did Frieza _do?"_ Nappa snarled.

Sighing, the green-skinned being gestured for both of the Saiyans to follow, leading them into a large, white-walled room in which the rejuvenation tanks were kept. Both soldiers were horrified when their eyes caught sight of the bruised and broken form of the child prince floating inanimately in crystalline sapphire fluid.

Raditz growled menacingly, bringing his fist down violently onto a nearby table. Splinters radiated out from the impact. "He doesn't deserve this!"

Several of the medical assistants had been given quite a scare from Raditz's outburst and skittered away to attend to business elsewhere. After taking an uneasy glance around the room and confirming the fact that he was alone with two furious Saiyans, the unfortunate medic scrambled to redeem the situation and placate his irate clients.

"Look, I'm doing the best I can. He is in a tank and his wounds are already healing. Once your Prince is ready, I will let you know," he assured them, conveniently excluding the information that once their young royal remained in DNA-enhanced liquid for the amount of time it would take to heal his wounds without rebooting his energy reserves, he would be subjected to a second brutal audience with Frieza.

"We will wait here for Prince Vegeta's recovery, then," Nappa determined.

_Oh dear._ "I am not quite sure—" the doctor began, but was interrupted by Raditz.

"We _are_ going to wait here, and you cannot stop us." Raditz insisted, clamping one hand upon the trembling shoulder of the alien.

"I—" The reptile stuttered, a thin, pink tongue darting out before slithering back into the damp recesses of his mouth. How could he tell them the truth? They would surely kill him.

At that moment, a slim female whose features resembled those of a dog shuffled in, her aquatic blue eyes somber. A sleek metal clipboard was clutched in her feminine paws, and she tapped it absentmindedly. Looking up, she reported, "According to my estimates for the time he will take to partially heal, he is due to see Frieza again in four hours."

Upon noticing the muscular men posed in threatening positions next to the doctor, who looked visibly shaken, a look of fear flashed within her deep blue irises and she backed away, her jaw hanging slack. She recognized the hostile visitors, and suddenly the extent of information she had let slip dawned on her. "Am I interrupting…something?" She questioned in a desperate attempt to feign innocence.

"_Who_ is due to see Frieza in four hours?" Nappa inquired darkly.

Behind the volatile warrior, the medic caught sight of the doctor making a slashing motion across his throat with one quaking hand, his eyes widening earnestly. The expression would have been comical if the situation was not a dangerous one.

"That information is strictly confidential," she replied.

Faster than she could bat an eye, the ill-fated nurse soon found herself pinned against the wall by the broad fingers of a bristling Saiyan warrior, cutting off every wisp of oxygen. Gasping for breath that would not come, she writhed helplessly, her fleecy paws clawing in vain at the vice grip of the livid bodyguard. As she tilted her head back for a scream, she was mortified when all that came out was a sickly wheeze of air. Warm, sticky fluid bubbled through her matted pelt and ran in reeking streams down the wide hand that choked her.

"I—I'm only following orders—" she managed to hiss.

"Is it Prince Vegeta?" Nappa snarled unrelentingly.

"I'm only—"

"You're not the only one who has to follow orders around here, scum! Now tell me!" Nappa shook her aggressively, a spray of spittle hitting the cheeks of his captive as he spoke.

"Y-Yes…" she whispered weakly, and the brawny Saiyan let her limp body sag to the floor. Whimpering softly in between frantic gasps for air, she rubbed the sore bruises that were now beginning to blossom across her aching throat.

A dirty expletive erupted from Nappa as he turned his vigorous attention upon the small-statured Prince hovering aimlessly in the cerulean solution, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Hatred welled within the powerfully built bodyguard when his thoughts turned to Frieza.

"How could that blasted lizard do this to him? What gives him the right?" Nappa fumed, pacing thunderously through the cramped space.

_/Nappa,/_ the deep, raspy voice of the second-oldest member of the Saiyan trio pinged into his mind, brushing against his conscious.

Irritably, Nappa sent back, _/What is it, third-class?/_

_/Don't speak of this now. Frieza has spies everywhere, just waiting for you to slip and say something out of line./_

As much as he hated to admit it, Raditz was right. Any punishment they received for insubordination would be inflicted upon their Prince, and neither of them wanted to cause him any more humiliation than he already underwent on a daily basis.

_/But what can we do? Surely we can do more than just stand and watch him get beaten!/_

The silence on the other end of the mental link assured Nappa of his fears. There really was not a thing they could do to help their Prince except be there to support him when he needed it, and clean up the aftermath as soothingly as possible.

…

Suppressing a sigh, Nappa hammered one meaty fist against the cold metallic surface of the door in a repetitive knock. The sounds punctuated the echoing expanse of the corridor, but there was no accompanying response from within the room—only stubborn, wordless silence, mutely proclaiming to the world what words could never hope to convey.

"Vegeta, at least answer me so I know you're alive." The tone was firm, but rueful considering the recent events that had transpired.

Just as expected, he was met with the same obstinate taciturnity as before.

"Vegeta," he persisted, gentler this time, almost _pleading._ "Just say something."

"Go _away,_ Nappa!" The embittered reply cut through inches of solid steel and electronics separating the two Saiyans, causing Nappa to wince unhappily.

"Vegeta, please—" Nappa beseeched him, but was abruptly cut off by another torrent of words emanating from inside the Prince's quarters.

"I am your Prince, so you have to obey me when I say go _AWAY!"_ Although muffled, the hoarse voice belonging to the five-year-old warrior still managed to sound haughty, flustered…and miserable.

"No, Vegeta," Nappa heard himself say, and he was not surprised when nothing but stunned silence persisted between them.

His courage mounting, the aging bodyguard continued, "Your father assigned me to keep you safe and out of trouble, Prince. It is my job to do so, even at the cost of disobeying your orders. I promised him, Vegeta."

"Well a lot of good _you've_ done! I sure haven't _felt_ safe lately! What use is your worthless protection if Frieza has the authority to override it like he did today?" Vegeta snarled venomously from behind the door.

The scathing remark stung more than Nappa cared to admit. Clearing his throat, he answered levelly, "There is only so much I can do. One of the ways I _can_ and _should_ help is by talking with you. I just want to talk to you, Vegeta. Please let me in."

"But—"

"No buts, Vegeta. How about you open the door?"

He heard tidbits of unrecognizable muttering and almost smiled in spite of himself. He then heard the activation code being entered into the pad on the other side of the door, and with a _whoosh_ the entrance yawned before him. Vegeta had briskly retreated toward his cot and now lay on his stomach with his face turned away from his mentor. "Come in," the child barked coldly. Nappa nodded and strode into the small living space, seating himself upon an uncomfortable stool by the bed.

"Well?" Nappa prompted.

"Well _nothing._ _You_ were the one who wanted to talk," Vegeta spat.

Silence settled over the room for a while, and Nappa grew anxious.

"Vegeta," the older warrior ventured, unable to take the eerie quiet any longer, "Do you want to tell me what happened today?"

"No!" He snapped automatically, unconsciously curling into a ball. "Why would I want to tell you? Why can't you just leave me alone?" He hissed into his pillow.

Gingerly, Nappa laid a hand upon his Prince's shoulder, a feeling of relief coming over him when he did not flinch away from the comforting touch. "You can tell me, Vegeta. It may help somewhat."

More silence descended, encompassing the small space in a blanket of soundlessness that seemed slightly more amiable than last time.

After several minutes, during which the tension between the fighters began to dissipate, Vegeta turned his heated gaze upon his bodyguard in a sudden movement. "I hate him!" He declared hotly, his fists clenched tightly enough to draw blood.

Nappa's visage darkened. "What did Frieza do?"

The Prince did nothing but shake his head viciously, his tail flicking frantically in agitation. "I hate him!" He repeated, but with more malice in his voice.

"My question remains." Nappa asserted.

Turning his smoldering gaze upon his mentor, Vegeta scowled. "I didn't bow to him. He punished me. They put me in the rejuvenation tank—"

"I know all that, Vegeta. What did Frieza do the second time?" Nappa encouraged him.

"He asked me if I was willing to bow to him. I said no. Then, he…" Vegeta's voice trailed off as the weight of his shame crashed down upon him.

"He punished you again?" Nappa inquired softly, knowing how humiliating it was for his Prince to be crushed in such a way.

Without saying a word, Vegeta nodded. "Yes. B-But then, he—" at this moment the stormy countenance of the young Prince morphed into something reflective of fear, "—then he _stopped."_

"Stopped?" The muscled warrior questioned, alarm rising in him.

"Yes." The flame-haired youth found a sudden interest in his gloves. "A-And he told me…" the roughened voice grew quieter.

"What did he tell you?" Nappa asked in an attempt to keep the boy talking.

Whirling toward his comrade spontaneously, he exclaimed in anguish, "He told me if I didn't bow, he would kill _father!"_ Pounding his fists against the mattress, he turned away and shut his eyes, his head lowered in disgrace.

This new piece of information left Nappa speechless. _How __**dare**__ Frieza say such a thing…?_

But the Prince was not finished. Grasping fistfuls of blanket in his gloved fingers, he cried heatedly, "I _bowed,_ Nappa!"

"I—I just couldn't bear the thought of…" He began to explain before his voice faded and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't want him to _die,_ Nappa."

Nappa sighed. "I know, Prince."

"Father says that real warriors don't cry," Vegeta stated suddenly, more to himself than to Nappa, as there were unshed tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He swiped them away roughly with a gloved hand, leaning into his mentor's touch.

"I—I want to be a real warrior, just like Father," the Saiyan Prince continued. "Father is strong. He says that I will be a Legendary Super Saiyan one day, just like my ancestor was!" A smirk graced his boyish features. "And then I will punish _Frieza!"_

"Your father _is_ strong, but you will be much stronger than him one day," Nappa told him.

Vegeta glanced up, one bushy eyebrow quirked. "You really think so?"

Nappa smiled knowingly. "I know so, Prince."

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_Review! The next chapter is due by 12/24/2012, but may come earlier. _


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